Iron Curtain
by Any Unborn Child
Summary: Drabble/Oneshot. The blood that passes through them would be the blood that they need to survive the aftermath.


Iron Curtain

By Any Unborn Child

Tokyo was a battlefield in all of its aspects.

Blood-spattered.

Dilapidated.

Bitter.

Broken.

A shell of what once was.

The carnage could be seen from the people skewered on arrows to the missing eyes amongst its inhabitants. The sea of blood, the deep red coppery liquid that ran in the veins of the individuals that fought, was imminent. The former life's essence was now stained glass on the concrete blocks that littered the ground. Its presence was unmistakable, the mix of hues and acids seared into the psyches of those who were unfortunate enough to bear witness.

In remembrance, Syaoran thought of the carnage as shocking, as any normal person would. The flashes of burnt and dilapidated flesh made him sick to his stomach – to think of worse fates only made his gut twist and tug more. He was lucky that he didn't regurgitate whatever he ate onto the floor, a floor that had already been exposed to too much acidity. This much blood – that much blood seen outside the human body – it was inhumane. It was sick. It was messed up. Syaoran did not like to think about it. He did not want to think about Tokyo and the events that had occurred. It had changed him. It had turned him into…someone else entirely.

_The limp ticking of the hand…_

In remembrance, Sakura thought of the blood seen as wide-spreading. Like the paint for a work of art, the blood she had seen had dripped down many of those she cared about, and those she did not know as well. Their clothes. Their skin. Their eyes. Their cheeks. Their legs. Their faces. The blood she had seen stood out strongly against the often pale expressions of those who had been painted with the ruby liquid. The paint didn't want to come off. It would not come off. It did not disappear. As much as Sakura wanted to forget, the one thing that she would give anything to forget, the burgundy paint did not want to disappear. She wanted to forget the burgundy paint.

_Can you give it some meaning?_

In remembrance, Fai thought of the massacre as what it was. A massacre. It was no more and it was no less. No need to make it more than what it was. It was unfortunate to him that individuals had to resort to such violence in order to bring a false peace. What didn't make sense to him up until the time he lost his eye was why the sights of blood and gore didn't jar him as much as it should have. Maybe it was because of his past…his past in Celes…Maybe it was because of his future…his future battle with Ashura…Up until he lost his eye, Fai thought that he knew what real suffering was, and what real strength came from. Now that he had felt his own life blood against his face, a gaping hole where half of his strength was, he wasn't so sure anymore. No matter how many times he wanted to, the blood that had scarred his face and dyed his skin and matted his hair didn't want to go away. He was forever imprinted with it.

_O mother dear let me out of here!_

In remembrance, Kurogane thought of the gore as a fateful reminder of his past. The past that would forever bury his dead parents, and forever mar his soul, for he carried the blood of his parents, and would have to live on in their name for as long as he was allowed to live. The blood also represented what was to be gained by fighting an opponent in battle, and what was to be shed when the opponent lost – if he lost as well. He had been attacked by opponents and mindless drones before – before Tokyo. Now that was no longer the case. He was now being attacked by enemies who wanted nothing more than to destroy him, to rid him of his sanity and well-being as well as his life-blood, the source of his existence. His enemies wanted to attack what he held most dear – the lives of his companions – if he failed to protect them from the enemies, their blood would be on his hands. He would pay dearly. Just as he did with his parents. There would be none of that. Now - If anyone dared to take him on now, they would have to pay with their own blood – and their lives. They would have to wipe off the toothy smirk of his with their red hands.

_I hear you in the wind that passes through me._

The mist that is Tokyo…

The deep secrets that were held on that fateful day…

A day that no one would soon forget.

The blood that passes through them would be the blood that they need to survive the aftermath. As long as they are living, the four of them would have to survive. They would survive in the burgundy iron curtain that their memories and their futures had unveiled for them.

_**Fin **_


End file.
